Okeedokee, here's the second chapter. Again, I'm sorry the chapters are so short but they seemed a lot longer in longhand. sweatdrop This is a first person point of view and the character is unnamed for the first two chapters. You'll have to guess. winks and smiles evilly DON'T FORGET TO READ AND REVIEW!!!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Gundam Wing…. But I do have a cloning machine…
Um… just so y'all don't waste you're time… I'm well aware that there are a lot of fragmented sentences. I wrote it that way to give it reality and jerkiness….
(I am not responsible if you're too stupid to ignore the warning below)
WARNING!!!—NAUGHTY BITS, DOING THE DIRTY AND WANKIES! Do NOT read if you are averse to YAOI of any kind!!! In fact… if you don't like sex or the male form, don't read this story at all. Sorry, but you REALLY won't like it.
The soft snores of a content being punctuate the quiet dawn. I listen to the steady beat of my Master's heart, his entire weight resting on my frail chest. A soft tread in the hall caught my attention. I heard the door open. My uncomfortable position kept my head turned away from the intruder.
My Master's bruising weight left me. The rush of air into my lungs induced a bout of violent coughing. Wiping the blood from my hand onto the sheets, I glanced around the room.
Knife poised above him, one of my Master's commanding officers stood watching me. He smiled and gleefully plunged the knife into my Master's throat. The man left but I barely noticed.
I watched the blood seep through the sheets, spread down his chest. The chest that, only a moment ago, pressed against my back. Blood on his hands. Hands that held me down when he used me. Blood on his legs. Those powerful legs. Blood everywhere. The heavy smell nearly made me ill.
The guards arrived and grabbed me. No need for their chains, I always wore mine. They dragged me down to the dungeons, to the cell at the end of the hall. A damp chill spread through my bare body. My chains were pegged to the wall, and they left me alone.
My death approaches, my execution awaits; these morbid thoughts rolled through my head. I listened to the servants move above me, bustling about their morning chores. A few hours passed before I heard someone come down the stairs.
The main floor had grown quiet while chambermaids tended the upper floors. The guard secured the passage and glared at me when he arrived at my cell. His stocky figure carried about two hundred fifty pounds. He opened the door and walked over to me. I trembled slightly when he touched me, his hand on my hip. A reminder of nights spent screaming.
He reached for his belt. I remembered the fear. He turned me over. I remembered the pain.
My sudden attack caught him off guard. I bloodied his nose with the back of my head before he scrambled away. But his pain quickly changed to anger. The sound of breaking bones echoed in the cell. Dark bruises blossoming on my chest.
Then he calmed slightly. Just enough to put his mind on what he came here for. His thick, fat fingers dug into my hips and pushed me over. He filled me with white-hot pain. I screamed.
Just how they want it. They enjoy the screams. It's what gets them off. These men enjoy the idea of causing pain. It's safer to take a worthless slave than a peasant off the street.
His release filled me. He caught his breath and pulled away. I stayed where he left me, leaning against the wall, my arms twisted above my head.
I prayed for my end to come.